


Once Upon A Winchester

by Alobear



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alobear/pseuds/Alobear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters come across strange things apparently going on in small town in Maine, called Storybrooke, and end up battling evil witches with some new-found allies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon A Winchester

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline:  
> I've taken the start of Supernatural Season 8 Episode 16 “Remember The Titans” but then sent the boys on an entirely different case.  
> The story takes place across Once Upon A Time Season 2 Episodes 14 “Manhattan”, 15 “The Queen Is Dead” and 16 “The Miller's Daughter”, so major spoilers for those are included. I have, however, tweaked the events somewhat, so timings and actual specifics are not how they occurred on the show (where would be the fun in that, after all?). Plus, I conceived the story idea before watching Season 2 Episode 17 “Welcome To Storybrooke”, so Greg Mendell's background and interests in Storybrooke are not taken into account at all.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing - just playing!

Dean sauntered into what had become the breakfast room at the secret lair, wearing his robe and clutching a cup of coffee. He was still revelling in the significant improvement in their lodgings; Sam might be mostly focused on the arcane lore they now had at their fingertips, but Dean was more interested in having his own room and a few creature comforts.

He glanced up to see Sam bending over the sink.

“What's up with you?” he asked.

Sam had been twitchy ever since the incident with the hellhound and his passing of the first trial. Dean couldn't blame him – he was still annoyed and anxious about how that had turned out himself – but he was worried there was more wrong with Sam than just the responsibility of task ahead.

Sam straightened hurriedly and spun round to face his brother.

“Nothing,” he claimed, though his studied innocence didn't fool Dean for a second. Dean really didn't want to get into it right then, though; he'd had enough of fighting with Sam in the last weeks and months.

“Heard from Kevin?” he asked, letting Sam off the hook for the time being and sitting down to drink his coffee.

“Uh, no, nothing yet,” Sam said.

“What's it been, like, three weeks?” Dean said in frustration. “What's taking that brainiac so long? It's a book – read it!”

Sam walked over to the table, his ridiculous height causing him to loom over Dean.

“Just a guess,” he said, reasonably, “but translating an ancient language with no help might be more difficult than we think.”

Dean knew Sam was right, but that didn't do anything to alleviate his frustration. If taking on the trials was doing something to Sam that he was hiding from his brother, Dean just wanted to get them over and done with as soon as possible. Plus, hanging around doing nothing had never been his strong point. He sighed.

“So, no word from Cas, Kevin's taking his sweet time, and you're acting cagey.” Sam gave him a sharp look at that, but didn't take the bait, so Dean let it drop again. “We need a lead, to stop us from climbing these walls.”

“Well, in that case,“ Sam said, “I think I may have something.”

“Yeah?” Dean queried. “What is it?”

“Take a look at this,” Sam said, sitting down at the table and pulling his laptop towards him. He pulled up a browser and went to a familiar website.

Dean leaned over to see the screen. Sam hit a key and a video started playing. It showed an attractive, dark-haired woman talking to a younger, confused-looking woman in a hospital bed. As Dean watched, the older woman waved her hand and the younger one fell back onto her pillows, apparently asleep. Another wave of the hand, and a purse rose from the side table, its contents floating out and circling in mid air for a few moments. The older woman plucked a piece of card from the air with a satisfied smile on her face, and the recording ended.

“A You Tube video?” Dean scoffed. “Really?”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his older brother.

“There’s more to it than that,” he protested. “Just hear me out.”

Dean raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug, nodding at Sam to go on.

“I’ve had a few hits of weird stuff supposedly going on at this little town in Maine,” Sam said. “There’s a guy who claims he lived there until the whole town suddenly went crazy and started thinking they were fairytale characters come to life. His friends tried to convince him that he was one of the seven dwarves.”

Dean felt his eyebrows go up. “And he’s…?”

“Five foot six,” Sam said, guessing immediately where his brother’s thought train had gone.

“Huh.” Dean still wasn’t convinced. “So, mass hallucinations affecting a whole town. Little weird, I grant you.”

“I just tagged it for interest at the time,” Sam continued. “It didn’t seem worth actually investigating, but now more stuff has come up. A guy was driving through the area and got into a car accident on the outskirts of the town. He says he saw someone throw a fireball, and then he supposedly recorded this video while he was in the hospital there.” He shrugged. “I know it’s not much to go on, but you said it – we need something to work on while we wait for Kevin to come up with the next trial.”

Dean capitulated. “Okay, fair enough. What’s the name of the town?”

“Storybrooke.”

XXXXX

Dean drove the Impala sedately down the main street in Storybrooke. From what he’d seen so far, he wasn’t too impressed with the town, nor did anything seem overtly suspicious. He spotted a diner and pulled up in front of it. It was quaintly called “Granny’s”, which made Dean’s lips quirk.

“What?” Sam queried, following Dean’s gaze to the sign above the diner. “Huh. Well, we could do with some home-cooked food for once. Here’s hoping the menu lives up to the name.”

They both got out of the car and went into the diner, Dean trying to look nonchalant while scanning the interior for signs of the weirdness Sam’s research had turned up. The first thing he noticed was the hot chick behind the counter. She was talking to a kid, who was sitting on one of the tall stools, drinking a milkshake. There were a couple of casually dressed trucker-types in a booth in the far corner, but otherwise the place was empty.

The waitress looked up at their entrance, pushing her long, black hair out of her face. The smile elicited by her conversation with the kid froze as she took in the Winchester brothers, but she recovered herself quickly and stepped around the counter to welcome them. Dean took a moment to admire her legs, which were encased in heavy knee-length boots and showed off to good advantage by a tight mini skirt.

“Just sit anywhere, guys,” she said with forced brightness. “I’ll grab you a couple of menus.”

As Sam and Dean walked past her towards an empty booth, she turned back to the kid at the counter and murmured something in his ear. He started slightly, then climbed down from his stool and ran out of the diner.

The Winchesters sat down and the waitress hustled over immediately, handing them each a laminated menu card. Her name badge said, ‘Ruby’. Demon associations notwithstanding, Dean thought the name suited her, matching her bright red lipstick.

“What brings you to Storybrooke?” Ruby asked, as they perused their menus.

They’d discussed their cover story on the journey, unsure how to present themselves to the townsfolk. Nobody was dead, hurt or missing, as far as they knew, so they had no recourse to their usual ruse as FBI agents. So, they’d decided to go with a more mundane story and play it by ear.

“Road trip,” Dean said, smiling up at her innocently. “Just doing some sightseeing.”

Ruby’s brow wrinkled, her nervousness still showing despite her attempts to hide it. “Sightseeing?” she repeated. “The sights aren’t up to much around here.”

Dean looked her up and down slowly, his trademark grin creeping across his face. “From where I’m sitting, I’d say otherwise,” he said.

Ruby managed a laugh, but it was clear she was uncomfortable. “What can I get you?” she asked, deflecting the conversation back to their order.

They both requested a cheeseburger with everything, and Ruby disappeared into the kitchen to place their order. Dean exchanged a glance with Sam; there must be something seriously wrong with this town if it had produced a hot waitress who was immune to his charms.

Ruby had brought their food and returned to her station behind the counter, when the kid from before came back in, another woman on his heels. This one certainly had the right hair for a fairytale princess – long and impossibly blonde – but her expression and body language didn’t fit that profile. It didn’t take the sheriff’s badge at her belt to tell Dean she’d be trouble.

The sheriff followed the kid to the counter and greeted Ruby, presenting a casual front. Dean could tell, however, that her attention had been fixed on them from the moment she stepped through the door. He turned back to his food, waiting for her to make the first move. It didn’t take long. Once she had collected a cup of coffee, the sheriff moved to lean on the counter opposite their booth, and regarded them levelly.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” she said, her voice confident. “Welcome to Storybrooke. I’m Emma Swan, town sheriff.”

“Howdy, sheriff,” Dean replied with an easy smile. “I’m Jacob and this is my brother, Wilhelm.”

The kid immediately spun his stool around and piped up, “Like the Brothers Grimm?”

Dean cursed inwardly. What were the chances that someone would recognise the names? He really had to start coming up with better aliases.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said, with a self-deprecating duck of his head, leaping in to salvage the situation. “Our parents had an odd sense of humour.”

“Jacob and Wilhelm…?” the sheriff prompted, her eyes narrowing.

“Monroe,” Dean completed.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I hope you enjoy your stay.” Her tone suggested she hoped anything but.

Sam smiled up at her. “If the accommodations are as good as the burgers, I’m sure we’ll do just fine.”

“Granny’s hospitality knows no equal,” the sheriff allowed, her tone softening slightly, but her eyes still wary. “How long do you plan on staying?”

“Not sure yet,” Dean prevaricated. “Our car could do with a little tuning up before we set off again. Is there a garage here in town where I might be able to work on her?”

“Just round the corner,” she told him. “Michael probably won’t mind you using his space. Is that your car just outside?”

“Sure is,” Dean enthused, letting his genuine pride in his baby leak through in his tone. “She takes a bit of work, but it’s all worth it.”

“Uh-huh.” The sheriff clearly wasn’t that interested in cars, but she relaxed a bit further at Dean’s obvious passion for the Impala. It all lent credibility to the persona he was creating, and he was gratified that it seemed to be working at least a little towards putting her at ease.

“I’ll let you get back to your lunch,” she said, and turned back to the kid at the counter, who was slurping the last dregs of his drink through the straw. “Come on, Henry. I think that milkshake’s about ready to surrender.”

The kid – Henry, Dean committed to memory – grinned up at her, and willingly followed her out of the diner.

When they’d finished their food, Ruby told them there were rooms available in the hotel upstairs and got them checked in. They still hadn’t seen any sign of the “Granny” of the establishment’s name, but Ruby seemed just as confident with the hotel side of things as with the diner, and the process didn’t take long. They collected their bags from the car and made their way up the back stairs to their room.

Sam rounded on Dean the moment the door was closed behind them.

“Why did you have to make me Wilhelm?” he whined. “What kind of a name is that anyway?”

“A good strong, German name, Willie my boy,” Dean replied with a smirk.

“And Monroe?” Sam spluttered. “Dude, that show is terrible! Animal monsters that show their true form when they’re nervous? It’s ridiculous!”

Dean shrugged. “It was the first name that sprang to mind when the kid mentioned Grimm,” he explained. “Besides, you have to admit that Nick guy has a lot of cool weaponry in that trailer of his.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but gave up the argument. “Did you see how the waitress sent the kid for the sheriff pretty much as soon as we stepped through the door?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “She was real nervous from the get-go. They certainly don’t like strangers in this town. And it’s not as if we can blend in – sightseers clearly don’t roll through here very often.”

“Nobody’s prancing around in a Disney costume, claiming to be Cinderella, either,” Sam pointed out. 

“There’s definitely something going on in this town, though,” Dean persisted. “We need to find the women from that video.”

XXXXX

At the sheriff's station, David listened as Emma told him and Mary Margaret about the two new visitors to town.

“And you don't believe them?” he queried once she'd finished, sensing the scepticism in her tone. 

“No way,” Emma said. “What's the likelihood that two random guys named after the Brothers Grimm would just happen to come to Storybrooke? Plus, I know a con man when I see one, and that Jacob guy has it written all over his face.”

“But what could they be doing here?” Mary Margaret wanted to know. “What would strangers from this world want with Storybrooke?”

“I have no idea,” Emma said. “But we need to be careful. We need to find out what they know, but without revealing anything about Storybrooke's secret. And that may be easier said than done, with Cora and Hook running about the place.”

“They could be good guys,” Henry suggested. “Maybe they're here to help us.”

Emma smiled down at her son, and reached out to ruffle his hair.

“I like your optimism, kiddo,” she said, “but if they were good guys, why would they lie about who they were?”

“Superheroes always have a secret identity,” Henry persisted.

“I'll bear that in mind,” Emma said. “In the meantime, we need to keep a low profile, keep them away from anything magical, and hope they get bored and go away.” She looked seriously at David and Mary Margaret. “Maybe I should try and get Gold to postpone the trip to New York until we know more about what those guys are doing here.”

“Do you really think he’d agree to that?” David asked. He couldn’t imagine Gold doing anything to accommodate them, whatever the circumstances. He might do things that benefitted them on occasion, but it was always for his own reasons, not out of altruism.

“No,” Emma admitted, “but I don’t like the idea of leaving when things are so uncertain here. It’s bad enough me not being here with the Cora threat hanging over us, without the added complication of suspicious strangers in town.”

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” David promised. “There are good reasons for you to be out of town for a while.” He glanced significantly at Henry. “We can handle whatever happens here.” He cut Emma off before she could say the words he knew would be coming next. “Don’t worry, we’ll be careful.”

She smiled at his accurate predication of what she was going to say. “Okay,” she said. Then she turned to Henry. “We’d better go pack.” She reached down to unclip her sheriff’s badge from her belt. She held it out to David. “I guess you’re in charge while I’m away,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the badge from her. It felt very solid in his hand, with the weight of responsibility, but also of power, albeit a power that would have very little effect on the dangers that threatened them now magic had been let loose in Storybrooke.

Emma and Henry went out, leaving David and Mary Margaret alone in the office. Mary Margaret’s brow was furrowed.

“Do you think this will ever be over?” she asked.

David put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “One day,” he said, hopefully. “I don’t know when or how, but I have faith we’ll prevail. Good always does in the end.”

She smiled uncertainly up at him. “I’m not sure that’s necessarily true in this world,” she said, “but we won’t give up trying.”

XXXXX

Dean and Sam waited until the sun had gone down, then made their way to the hospital. It wasn't a large hospital, but there was still enough activity that they didn't stand out too much wandering the halls. Before long, they spotted the young woman from the video through an open door. She was pretty, with delicate features and long brown hair, but she looked fragile, and her face was pinched, as if she was trying to remember something.

Dean gestured for Sam to enter the room first. He was always better at dealing with the fragile ones, and it was important they reassure her that they didn't mean any harm. They both slipped inside the room, Dean closing the door behind them. The girl looked up at their entrance, but didn't immediately seem alarmed.

“Let me guess,” she said, with a soft Australian accent. “We're bosom friends and you're sure I'll remember you if I just try.” She sounded weary.

“No,” Sam said, “we've never met.”

That sparked her interest. “Well, that makes a nice change. What do you want with me if we've never met?”

Sam went with the truth. “We're looking into some weird stuff we've heard about this town, and we were hoping you'd be able to help us figure some of it out.”

“Me help you?” She gave Sam a tired smile. “That makes an interesting change, too. Everyone else keeps trying to help me and, to be honest, I'm a bit sick of it. As for weird stuff, you've come to the right place. This is Weird Central.”

“I'm Will, and this is my brother, Jake,” Sam said. They'd decided to stick with the false names to make things simpler, in case the sherrif got wind of their visit and decided to ask questions.

The girl shrugged. “I'd return the favour, but I don't know who I am. People keep telling me my name is Belle, but it doesn't mean anything to me. I guess it's as good a name as any, though, so you might as well use it.”

“Do you mind if we sit down, and talk to you for a bit?” Sam was still doing his polite, respectable citizen act.

“Go for it,” Belle said. “It's not as if I have anything else to do right now.”

Dean and Sam took a seat each on either side of the bed, and Dean took over the conversation.

“We're looking into someone who came to visit you,” he said.

Sam took a printed screen shot from the video out of his jacket and showed Belle the older woman.

Belle's brow wrinkled.

“I remember. It was a few days ago,” she said. “I actually thought I recognised her from before the accident, but everything's still really fuzzy.”

“Accident?” Dean queried.

“Yeah,” Belle said. “I was on the outskirts of town; I don't remember why, but there was a man in a leather coat and he shot me.”

“He shot you?” Dean didn't see any bandages.

Belle threw him a wry look. “This is where the weirdness comes in, so bear with me. The man I was with, Mr Gold he says his name is – he put his hand on my shoulder and suddenly the bullet wound was gone. Then he threw a fireball at the other guy and blasted him into the path of an oncoming car.” She let out an exasperated breath. “I know it all sounds insane and everyone seems to think I'm crazy, but the driver of the car was in the hospital for a while, and he says he saw the fireball too.”

“Believe me,” Sam said, sympathetically, “we've heard crazier.”

“What about the woman who came to see you?” Dean asked.

Belle frowned, obviously concentrating. “She said she wanted me to help her find something.”

Dean leaned forwards. This was progress, since they hadn't been able to make out any dialogue on the video.

“Did she say what it was?”

“No,” Belle said, “but she said it belonged to Rumpelstiltskin.”

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam. This was the first reference to a fairy tale character they'd heard since they'd arrived in town.

Belle misunderstood their expressions. “I know, it's ridiculous, right? When I asked her who she meant, she said Mr Gold.”

“You said this Gold character was with you when the accident happened,” Dean said. “What do you know about him?”

Belle's features twisted. “He says we're in love.” She shifted uncomfortably in the bed. “He's been in here several times since the accident, trying to get me to remember. I actually woke up the other night to find him trying to kiss me.”

“Well, that’s not remotely creepy,” Dean said with heavy sarcasm.

“I know,” Belle said. “Then he brought me a chipped teacup and tried to make me hold it, saying it would help me remember that I loved him. I smashed it and he got really upset, and I haven't seen him since. He was so insistent, though, and I don't remember who I am, so maybe he's right.” She looked down at her hands. “I've been trying to think back before the accident, and bits and pieces have started to come through, but nothing that fits with what he said. I think I might have met him before, but I certainly don't remember us being in a relationship.”

“You said you maybe remembered the woman who came to see you, too,” Sam prompted.

“Yeah,” Belle said. “I think, before the accident, I was locked up somewhere for a very long time.”

“In prison?” Dean asked, having difficulty imagining her committing a crime.

“No,” she clarified. “More like in a hospital. Like a mental ward, or something. I don't remember much about it, but I think that woman came to see me there, too. Then, I think someone came and let me out, and sent me to Mr Gold. I have an image of walking in the woods with him, but then there's nothing until the night of the accident. None of it's very clear.”

“Okay, thanks,” Dean said. “It gives us some more stuff to look into, at least.”

“What's it to you, anyway?” Belle asked, suddenly.

“We, uh, just like solving mysteries,” Sam said. Dean rolled his eyes across the bed; they were treading a fine line with the truth here, and it always got complicated when they veered away from a wholly mundane cover story.

“Well, there's plenty of those around here,” Belle said. “Let me know if you find any explanations, will you?”

XXXXX

Back at Granny's, Sam went straight into research mode. Dean watched him browse, waiting for the inevitable exposition. It wasn't long in coming.

“Okay, Rumpelstiltskin,” Sam announced after a few minutes. “Story first collected in 1812 by the Brothers Grimm -” he looked up and arched an eyebrow at Dean “- where he is described as an 'imp-like creature'. In the story, a miller tells the king his daughter can spin straw into gold, so the king locks her up in a dungeon with a pile of straw and a spinning wheel, and threatens to cut off her head if she doesn't produce the requisite gold.”

“Nice guy,” Dean commented, drily.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Anyway, so Rumpelstiltskin turns up and spins the straw into gold in exchange for the girl's necklace. The next night, the king gives her a bigger pile of straw with the same threat, but Rumpelstiltskin shows up again and creates the gold in exchange for her ring.”

Dean held up a hand to halt Sam's flow. “If he can spin straw into gold, what the hell does he want with some peasant's crummy jewellery?”

“He's just laying the groundwork,” Sam explained. “Like a drug dealer, getting a new kid hooked – only the first one's free.”

“So what is it he really wants?” Dean said.

“I'm glad you asked,” Sam said with a grin. “Third night, the king gives the girl an even bigger pile of straw, and promises to marry her if she can turn it all into gold. If not...”

He paused and looked up. Dean took his cue and drew a finger across his throat.

“Right,” Sam said, then continued. “So, this time, Rumpelstiltskin comes up with a new deal. Straw into gold for the girl's firstborn child.”

“Ah, that old chestnut,” Dean said. Then a thought struck him. “Is this starting to sound like a demon deal to you?”

Sam frowned. “Maybe a little. I wonder if there's any connection. Do you think the Brothers Grimm had some experience with real monsters in their day?”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Dean said. “They had to get their ideas from somewhere, right? Anyway, so I'm guessing the girl agrees to the deal, good old Rumpel holds up his end with the gold, and the girls gets to be queen. She has a kid, the deal comes due – then what?”

“To nobody's surprise, she refuses to give the kid up. Weirdly, Rumpelstiltskin then agrees to make a new deal with her, saying she can keep the kid if she guesses his name within three days. He comes back each day, and she can't guess. But she sends men out to search the kingdom and one of them finds Rumpelstiltskin's castle on the night before the third day and spies on him. Get this – he's actually dancing around, singing about how clever he is, and he reveals his name in the song.”

Dean snorted. “What an idiot.”

“So,” Sam carried on, “on the third day, he turns up, and girl is all ready with the name. Rumpelstiltskin throws a hissy fit and runs off, never to be seen again.”

“He just ran away?” Dean queried. “Well, that's pretty lame. Dude doesn't sound like much of a threat. How do we kill him?”

“It doesn't say,” Sam admitted. “In all the versions of the story, he either just disappears or actually kills himself.” He looked up from the laptop, an earnest look on his face. “Besides, we don't know he's the bad guy in all this. The woman who came to see Belle in the hospital obviously has it in for him, so he may actually be a victim.”

Dean never ceased to be amazed by Sam's willingness to see good in people – and monsters. He himself was less than convinced. It was one of the things that caused problems between them sometimes – the whole mess with Amy was still a sore point – and Dean was both frustrated by and envious of Sam’s optimism. “In my experience, there are rarely good guys in a monster feud, Sammy,” he said. “And he's the only lead we've got at the moment. We know he's connected to the town and we've got eye witness accounts of him using magic, so I say we look him up tomorrow and see what we can find out.”

“Fair enough,” Sam said, shutting the laptop. “If nothing else, he may be able to shed some light on what's going on around here.”

XXXXX

The following morning, Sam and Dean took a wander round the town and soon spotted a shop on the corner of the main street, sporting the name Gold above the door.

“Rumpelstiltskin runs a pawn shop?” Dean said. “I guess that makes sense, if he’s into deals that force people to give up their valuables.”

There was a sign on the door saying the shop was closed because the proprietor was out of town.

“Huh,” Sam said. “Well, there goes the plan of seeing what we could get out of him.”

Dean wasn’t prepared to give up just yet. “Let’s see if we can get in around back,” he suggested. “There’s got to be a ton of stuff in there that might give us a lead.”

They walked nonchalantly round to the back of the shop, where they found a rear door. It was locked, but that didn’t put them off. Sam quickly retrieved his lock picks from an inside pocket and knelt to work at the door, while Dean took a couple of paces back and looked around to check they weren’t being observed. Breaking into places in broad daylight wasn’t the most sensible of ideas, but it would be a waste of time to wait until dark, when they had no other leads to go by. He glanced back at Sam, to see his brother about to insert the lock picks into the lock. The moment they touched the mechanism, there was a ‘whump’ noise and Sam was knocked backwards to the ground by some unseen force.

“Sam!” Dean cried, rushing to his brother’s side. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, breathlessly, struggling to sit up. Dean supported him into a sitting position and he shook his hair out of his eyes. “Wow, someone really doesn’t want anyone to get in there.”

“At least it confirms the magic angle,” Dean said.

He stood up and offered Sam a hand, pulling him to his feet.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “But we’re out of leads again. So now what?”

“Other people in the town must know what’s going on,” Dean said, “but we have no way of knowing which the right people are to ask, and who’s trustworthy.”

“We passed a library on our way over here,” Sam said. “Maybe we could find something there about the town’s history, or past significant events that might give us a clue.” He caught Dean’s sceptical look, and went on. “I know it’s not much, but what else have we got?”

Dean didn’t relish the idea of spending the day doing research in the library. “You go and see what you can find,” he said. “I’ll take the car over to the garage and establish our cover there. Maybe I can talk to a couple of the locals and see what I can get that way. Why don’t we meet back at Granny’s at lunchtime and compare notes?”

“Okay,” Sam agreed, and they split up.

XXXXX

Sam made his way to the library, only to discover that that, too, was closed and locked up. Whatever else was going on in this town, it wasn’t going to win any awards for public services. He was about to give up and go back to the hotel to see if the internet could provide any more information, when he heard the sound of people moving about inside the building. He followed the noise to a window down the side that was slightly open, and peered inside.

There were three people in the library, poring over what looked like a map laid out on the table in the centre of the room. Sam recognised one of them immediately as the woman from the video. The other two were unknown to him; an older woman with pinched features and a tall man in an outlandish outfit that made him look positively piratical.

As Sam watched, the man pointed at something marked on the map and announced, “I give you the location of the dagger!”

The older woman’s face twisted into an approximation of a smile and she said, “Well done, Hook. We’ll take it from here.”

She snatched the map up from the table and started moving purposefully towards the door, the woman from the video following behind her.

The man – Captain Hook? Sam wondered (his left hand was stiff and unmoving beneath a black leather glove) – gave a cry of outrage. “No! You promised me!”

He moved to stop them leaving, but the older woman gave a wave of her hand and the man was thrown across the room, to land in a heap against the bookshelves. He lay still, and the two women walked out of the library without a backward glance.

Now that he had located the target of the hunt, and discovered she had an equally magically-powered accomplice, Sam didn’t want to lose her. He waited at the side of the building for a few seconds, so that they wouldn’t see him as they came out, then edged round the front and followed them at a safe distance.

XXXXX

Dean drove the Impala round to Tillman’s garage and pulled up in a space next to the workshop. His baby was actually in pretty good condition at the moment, but it never hurt to give her a tune-up and he was looking forward to having the excuse to spend some time working on her.

A man in overalls emerged from the workshop as he got out of the car. He was very average-looking, with short brown hair and regular features, and he was wiping his hands on the inevitable mechanic’s greasy rag.

“Hey,” Dean said, companionably. “You Michael Tillman?”

The man nodded warily. It was a now familiar reaction from the town’s residents, but Dean ignored it, maintaining his friendly expression.

“The name’s Jake,” he said. “My brother and I are just passing through town, and Sheriff Swan said you might let me use your space to work on my baby here.”

Tillman’s eyes slid to the Impala, his suspicion giving way to admiration as he took in the car’s smooth lines.

“Nice car,” he said appreciatively, and Dean’s smile widened with pride.

“That she is,” he agreed readily. “Needs a lot of TLC, though, and I could do with giving her a once-over. You mind?”

“Okay by me,” Tillman said. “Feel free to use whatever you need.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean said. “I appreciate it.”

Within a few minutes, he was happily up to his elbows in the Impala’s engine, fully engrossed in the car until a voice behind him made him start.

“Cool car!”

He turned to see a young boy standing behind him, awe clear in his face.

“Thanks!” he said. “You want to come take a look?”

The boy stepped forwards eagerly.

“I’m Jake,” Dean said. “What’s your name?”

“Hansel,” the boy said, then immediately looked horrified. “I mean, Nicholas.”

Dean considered the boy for a moment. He hadn’t wanted to push things with Tillman right off, deciding to wait until they’d built up a bit of a rapport before trying to get anything out of him about the town, but this kid might be an easier mark.

“Hansel?” he queried, with a grin. “Like in the fairy tale?”

The boy goggled at him, but was saved from having to answer by the appearance of a girl, who looked to be a couple of years older than him.

“It’s just a stupid game we play,” she said. “Nicholas has a very good imagination and he gets carried away sometimes.” She strode forwards to join them at the car, punching the boy in the arm as she drew level with him.

“So you’re Gretel, right?” Dean said innocently.

“Ava,” she said firmly. Nicholas opened his mouth to say something, but she glared at him and he shut it again.

“Younger brother?” Dean asked, gesturing at the boy.

Ava nodded.

“I have one of those, too,” Dean told her, rolling his eyes.

She relaxed slightly, but Dean didn’t get the chance to work on his advantage, because at that moment his phone rang. The caller ID showed Sam’s name.

“Speak of the devil,” he said to Ava. “Excuse me a minute.”

He walked away from the kids and answered the phone.

“What’s up?” he said.

Sam’s voice was low but clear. “I’ve found the woman from the video,” he said. “She’s with another woman, and I think they’re both witches.”

“You’ve seen them use magic?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed. “But at the moment, they have a map and a shovel, and they’re heading into the woods to look for some kind of dagger. I’m on their tail, but I have no idea what might happen if they find what they’re looking for.”

“Okay, tell me where you are and I’ll come find you,” Dean said.

“Heading east out of town into the woods,” Sam told him. “I’ve switched on the GPS on my phone, so you can track me.”

“Great,” Dean said. “Don’t do anything till I get there.”

He cut the connection and went back to the car. The kids were still hanging about, so he couldn’t tool up properly, but he managed to retrieve a hand gun from the trunk and slip it into his waistband without them noticing. Then he caught Ava’s attention.

“I’ve got to go help my brother with something for a bit, but I’ll be back to work on the car some more later. Keep an eye on it for me, will you?”

She nodded, and he set off in the direction of the woods after Sam.

XXXXX

Dean jogged to the treeline, then slowed as he entered the woods. He brought up Sam’s location on his phone and made his way through the chilly forest to where it pointed him. As he got close, he slowed further, being as quiet as possible so as not to alert their quarry to their pursuit. He spotted Sam from a few feet away, crouched behind a large tree, and crept up to join him. Sam sensed his presence and motioned him down beside him, pointing through the tree branches to a small clearing just up ahead.

Sure enough, the woman from the video was digging a hole in the ground, while an older woman stood to one side, watching her. Neither of them were dressed for manual labour in the woods, instead wearing stylish suits and court shoes.

“And you’re sure this is where we’re supposed to dig.” The older woman’s voice carried clearly, her tone imperious.

“Yes,” the other one said exasperatedly. “Hook marked it clearly. Rumpelstiltskin’s dagger is here.”

And there was the reference to Rumpelstiltskin again. He was obviously right at the centre of this whole thing, even though (or perhaps because) he was apparently out of town.

“Unless Hook lied to us,” the older woman mused.

Dean wondered who this Hook guy they kept talking about was. From the context, he guessed he was an erstwhile ally of the two witches, who was probably not as trustworthy as he’d like them to think.

“Well, then,” the woman from the video said, throwing down the shovel, “this map is useless. Gold is the only one who can translate it.”

The older woman seemed unperturbed by this turn of events. But then, Dean thought, she hadn’t been the one doing the digging.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” she said. “Hook could have saved us a lot of effort with honesty. But the truth is, we don’t need anyone. I can reconstruct the map – it’ll just take a bit more time. And, when we find it, I promise you, I’ll use that dagger to force the Dark One to kill anyone you like.”

That was what Dean had been waiting for; a definite threat to innocents. However, before he could decide how to react, the two women just vanished in a cloud of purple smoke, the hole and the shovel that had made it simply abandoned.

Dean turned to Sam. “Definitely witches,” he commented.

“Yeah,” Sam said, “and definitely evil.”

“So, now what?” Dean asked.

“Now,” an entirely new voice sounded from behind them, “you can explain what exactly you’re doing skulking around in the woods.”

They both spun round to see a diminutive figure striding towards them through the leaf litter. It was another woman, this one young and very slender, with close-cropped brown hair and a stern expression on her face.

Dean and Sam rose to their feet simultaneously and faced her. They exchanged glances, Sam shrugging slightly as if to abdicate responsibility. Dean squared his shoulders and decided to go with the truth. They had no way of locating the witches, and the weirdness they’d encountered spread far beyond just those two, anyway.

“Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this,” he said, “but you’ve got two evil witches rampaging around, planning on killing a bunch of people with a magic dagger.”

“Most of that I already knew,” the woman said, to his complete surprise. “What I’d like to find out is what it’s got to do with you. My husband’s acting sheriff while Emma’s in New York. Come back to town with me and you can explain yourselves to both of us at the same time.”

Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged again, presumably figuring they didn’t have much to lose at this point. Potential allies who knew more about the situation than they did could only be a benefit, and it wasn’t as if they couldn’t overpower this slip of a girl if they really needed to. The acting sheriff might be more of an issue, but Dean knew he at least was armed, so they could probably cut and run easily enough if they had to. He gestured for the woman to lead the way, and they all started back towards the town.

XXXXX

It soon became obvious they were heading to the sheriff’s station, which didn't make Dean feel any more comfortable about the situation, but they were pretty much committed to their current course of action by that point, so he continued to follow the young woman inside. Things changed abruptly when they entered the office to find a man lying unconscious on the floor.

The young woman cried, “David!” and fell to her knees at the man’s side. The man groaned and opened his eyes blearily.

“David,” the young woman said again, helping him to sit up. “What happened?”

“Hook. He ambushed me,” David replied, accepting her help to get to his feet. 

“Are you hurt?” the young woman wanted to know, apparently having completely forgotten about Dean and Sam for the moment.

David evidently hadn’t noticed them yet, either. “I’m fine. It’s not me he wants. It’s Gold… and his hook. I’m going to enjoy throwing his ass in jail.”

Dean had been listening to the exchange with interest. It seemed Hook was after Gold as well, whether he was actually working with the witches or not. Judging from the bleeding gash on David’s head, though, his attacks took a more mundane form.

Their escort from the forest brought things back round to the matter at hand. “Hook isn’t the problem, David,” she said.

“Tell that to my head,” he replied, wryly, but then nodded for her to carry on.

“It’s Regina. She’s been lying to us,” she told him, then gestured to where Sam and Dean were hovering in the doorway. “These two say she’s working with Cora.”

David tensed at the sight of Sam and Dean. “And how does it involve them?” he asked.

The young woman led him to a chair and pushed him down into it.

“That’s what I’m planning to find out,” she said, fixing Dean and Sam with a steely glare. “Let’s start with some introductions, shall we? I’m Mary Margaret, and this is my husband, David. Now your turn – and we already know your names aren’t Jacob and Wilhelm Monroe.”

Dean stepped inside the room and took up a position leaning against the wall. Sam followed suit, positioning himself on the other side of the door.

“I’m Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam,” Dean said. “We’re hunters. We track weird phenomena across the country and deal with anything that threatens innocent people.”

“Okay,” Mary Margaret said, “and what are you really doing in Storybrooke?”

Dean gestured at Sam to fill them in. Sam explained about the information they’d collected on the town, and how they’d come to find out what was going on.

“We’ve managed to put some things together,” he concluded, “but we still have a lot of unanswered questions. Plus, it seems as though the people in this town know a lot more about what’s going on than we’re used to. For instance, you said you already know about the witches.”

“Witches?” David queried, looking at his wife.

“Regina and Cora,” Mary Margaret said. “These guys were spying on them in the woods just outside of town.”

“And what were you doing in the woods?” David wanted to know.

“I was following him,” she said, pointing at Dean. “I spotted him at the garage earlier and decided to keep an eye on him. When he took a gun out of the trunk of his car and headed off towards the woods, I thought I ought to find out what he was doing.”

“Way to be subtle, dude,” Sam said.

“Shut up,” Dean countered. “You were tracking two hostiles in unknown territory, on your own. I figured speed was of the essence.”

David was more interested in his wife’s safety. “And you decided to follow an armed man into the woods alone? What were you thinking?”

“Never mind that now. We need to find out what’s going on,” Mary Margaret said, turning back to Sam and Dean. “Since we’re exchanging information, why don’t you tell us what you’ve found out about Regina and Cora’s activities?”

Sam explained what he’d seen and overheard, both at the library and in the woods, up to the point when the two witches had disappeared. Dean noticed David and Mary Margaret exchanging several glances during the narrative, their expressions growing grimmer by the second. When Sam had finished, however, he didn’t give them a chance to respond, instead turning the tables on them with some questions of his own.

“Exchange of information goes both ways,” he said, “and you two haven’t told us squat. We’ve got a guy saying the whole town thinks they’re fairy tale characters, an amnesiac girl in the hospital who says Rumpelstiltskin thinks she’s in love with him, two witches running around threatening to kill people with a magic dagger – what is it with this place?”

David and Mary Margaret looked at each other again, evidently unsure of what to say.

“Look,” Dean said. “We’re trying to help you here. It’s what we do. But this place is way off the crazy scale, even compared to what we normally deal with. You guys obviously know more than you’re letting on. If you want our help, you’re going to have to tell us what’s going on.”

“Fair enough,” David said. “I guess we might as well just tell you.”

XXXXX

By the time David and Mary Margaret had finished their explanation, Dean's head was spinning. He glanced at Sam, whose expression suggested he was having just as much trouble processing what they'd just heard.

“So, let me get this straight,” Dean said, looking back and forth between David and Mary Margaret. “Regina, the Evil Queen, created this whole town as part of a curse to steal happy endings from fairy tales, but the curse has now been broken so you know who you are again. You're Snow White and Prince Charming, and Emma is your daughter. Henry is her son, but was adopted and raised by the Evil Queen, who is now trying to destroy you all and steal him back from Emma...” He trailed off. “No, wait. This is all just too weird and complicated for me. Can we just focus on two evil witches trying to destroy the town and leave it that? That's something we can help with. The rest of it is giving me a headache, and it's just trimming anyway.”

Mary Margaret glared at him. “Our lives are 'just trimming' to you?” she said indignantly. “Well, if that's the way you feel about it, I don't think we want your help.”

Dean cursed himself for his big mouth and was about to try and mitigate the insult when David spoke up.

“Come on, Mary Margaret, give them a break,” he said, but she cut him off.

“No, David.” She spoke with force. “Our family is under threat. Our family. There's nothing more important than that. And the last thing we want is two random guys sticking their noses in when they have no connection to us, and nothing invested in what's going on here. All they'll be is a liability.”

“Hey, wait,” Sam said, raising his hands in a placatory gesture. “If there's one thing we understand, it's the importance of family.” He had his painfully earnest expression at full force, and Dean watched as it melted Mary Margaret's anger in real time. He never failed to be amazed at Sam's ability to bring people around and wished, not for the first time, it was something he could learn.

“What Dean means,” Sam continued in reasonable tones, “is that we've been hunting monsters a long time, and we know how to deal with witches. We realise all the background behind this threat is important to you, but we don't need to understand it all to be able to help you.” 

He threw a self-deprecating smile into the mix; the maestro at work, and the best thing about it was that he wasn't doing it consciously. That was the key, Dean knew, and the reason it didn't work when he tried it. What broke down people's defences was Sam's sincerity.

“And you have to admit it's a lot to take in,” Sam went on. “Look at it from our point of view. Even with all the weird things we've seen over the years, this one is pretty crazy.”

David reached out one hand and ran it down Mary Margaret's arm. “He's right, you know,” he said. “Remember how we felt when we couldn't remember and Henry kept trying to persuade us we were Snow and Charming. It does sound crazy. And we do need to focus on how to stop Regina and Cora. I say we can use all the help we can get. The dagger controls Gold – if Cora gets it, she can force him and all his power to do her bidding.”

Mary Margaret nodded warily. “Or become the Dark One herself,” she said.

“Uh, the Dark One?” Dean queried. He was getting confused again; it didn't take much.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Mary Margaret clarified. “Gold.”

“He just keeps on cropping up, doesn't he?” Dean said. “What is it with this guy?”

“He's the most powerful being we know of from our world,” David explained, his expression serious. “He used to be human once, but he became an entity referred to as the Dark One a long time ago and it twisted him into something evil. He's the one who released magic into the town, so he has access to his power again. The wielder of the dagger can control him, so it would enable Cora and Regina to use his power to do whatever they want. We can't let them get hold of it. Luckily for us, we can call the man himself. He's with Emma.”

Mary Margaret pulled out a cell phone and hit a speed dial number. There was a brief pause while they all looked at her expectantly; then she mouthed “voicemail” and spoke into the phone.

“Hi Emma. It's Mary Margaret. Things have, um, developed somewhat here. Cora and Regina are after Gold's dagger and they have a map supposedly showing its location. It’s the source of all his power and they could use it to turn him against us again. They haven't found it yet, but it's only a matter of time, so we have to get to it first. Can you get Gold to tell you where it is so we can fetch it and keep it safe until you get back?” She made as if to disconnect the call, then put the phone back to her ear. “By the way, tell Henry he was right. It turns out our Brothers Grimm are superheroes after all.” She glanced at Dean, then frowned. “Sort of.”

Once she had ended the call, Dean said, “The kid thinks we're superheroes?”

David laughed. “Don't let it go to your head,” he said. “Henry thinks everyone is a superhero.” He sobered again. “We can't just wait around for Emma to call us back or return.” He turned back to Sam. “What did you mean before, when you said you know how to deal with witches?”

Dean pushed himself away from the wall with a grin. “Follow me,” he said.

He led them out of the sheriff's office and back round to the garage, where the Impala stood where he'd left it. There was no sign of the kids, and Tillman was working on a truck in the back of the workshop.

Dean opened the trunk of the car, and lifted up the false bottom to reveal the Winchester arsenal. David and Mary Margaret looked down in mixed amazement and horror at the array of weaponry and strange artefacts.

“What on earth is all of that?” Mary Margaret demanded.

“Tools of the trade,” Dean said. He reached into the trunk and retrieved two sawn-off shotguns, throwing one of them to Sam. He located a particular box of ammunition, opening it one-handed and taking out several rounds, handing a few to his brother. “Now, witches may have magic, but they're still human. If you can get past the spells, a bullet will kill them just as dead as anyone else. Pure iron rounds are generally best, because it messes with their powers. We also have a spell that's designed to kill witches outright, regardless of what defences they have set up, but it's complicated to set up and a bit limited in its usefulness. Oh, it'll kill a witch, but you have to aim it just right, and its targeting is very specific. If you've got two witches standing next to each other, it'll probably only get one of them.”

“And you know this will all work on witches from another world?” David asked.

“Good question,” Sam said. “And the simple answer is: no, we don't. But this is what we've got, and it's worked for us before.”

Mary Margaret spoke up. “The other problem we have is Henry.”

“The kid?” Dean said. “Why's he a problem?”

“Whatever Regina's done, she'll still kind of his mom,” Mary Margaret said, her eyes troubled. “He's still convinced he can make her good, and he'll never forgive us if we kill her.”

“Well, from what we heard earlier,” Dean said, “she has no qualms about killing you. And if you face her with reservations about doing the same, I can guarantee it'll end badly for you.”

“You may be right,” David said, “but we can't betray Henry's faith in us. He's what holds this whole place together, and he's the reason we're fighting so hard to protect it.”

“Maybe that's why you need us,” Sam suggested, with a glance at Dean, his eyes hard. “To do what you can't. Destroying evil is what we do, and we won't be distracted by the emotional ties that are going to hold you back.”

Mary Margaret didn't look convinced. “I don't like the idea of strangers running around town with shotguns. There are too many innocent people who might get hurt.”

“But what else can we do?” David said. “We're no match for Cora on our own.”

“Regina,” Mary Margaret said. “She doesn't trust her mother. Never has. If we can put some doubt in her about Cora's motives, it might slow them down.”

Now it was David's turn to look sceptical. “And you think she'll just trust you?”

“Well, she doesn't need to trust me,” Mary Margaret countered. “She just has to listen to me. And I know how to get her to do that.”

Dean jumped in. “From what we overheard in the woods, the time for talking about this has been and gone. Regina didn't bat an eye when Cora said she'd get Gold to kill people. In fact, what Cora said was that she'd get him to kill whoever Regina wants dead. Whatever you think you can tell Regina about her mother's motives, she's just as embroiled in the evil plan. They both need to be stopped – permanently.”

But Mary Margaret wouldn't listen. She insisted on trying her idea with Regina first and, eventually, the men just had to let her go.

XXXXX

Emma was wishing she’d never agreed to come on the trip to New York. Damn Gold and his bottomless powers of manipulation. What had started out as a simple trip to find Gold’s son had turned into an unmitigated disaster. Neal had come back into her life unexpectedly, Henry was mad at her for lying to him about his father, Gold had been revealed as Henry’s grandfather of all things; and, if all that drama wasn’t enough, Hook had turned up and attacked Gold with some kind of fatal poison.

Out on the fire escape of Neal’s apartment building, Emma ran her hands through her hair and wondered, not for the first time, when her life had got so complicated. Having Henry back in her life was worth any amount of trouble, but life seemed determined to test that resolve to its limits lately. On top of everything else, she was worried about what might be happening back in Storybrooke while she was away. Capable as they were, she didn’t like leaving David and Mary Margaret alone to deal with the threat from Cora. At least she knew Hook was out of the picture for the time being, but she still had concerns about the two guys who had turned up in town. Even if they were entirely innocuous, which she didn’t believe for a second, random people wandering around Storybrooke was the last thing they needed.

She pulled out her cell phone to call David and discovered she had a voicemail message. She listened to it, cursing herself for leaving town as she heard what Mary Margaret had discovered. Once the message was finished, she pushed herself away from the fire escape railing and climbed back into the apartment, where Gold was still lying on the couch and Henry was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, kicking his heels against its base. They both looked up as she came in, neither expression welcoming. She didn’t have time to worry about Henry’s view of her right now, though, and instead focused on the problem at hand.

“Bad news, Gold,” she said, gesturing with her phone.

His reply was characteristically sarcastic. “What, worse than incurable poison?”

“I don’t know,” Emma admitted. “You tell me. You got a dagger hidden somewhere in Storybrooke that’s the source of all your power?”

Henry sat up, suddenly interested.

“Get to your point,” Gold said testily. He shifted his position slightly and winced as the movement aggravated his wound. He really didn’t look too good.

“Cora’s after it,” Emma told him. “The only way to stop her is have David and Mary Margaret get to it first.”

“Yeah, let Cora try,” Gold scoffed, turning his head away from her and feigning disinterest.

Emma wasn’t prepared to let it go that easily. She knew he had confidence in his ability to defeat all-comers, but the experience of earlier that day suggested that might well be unfounded. “You can’t seriously be willing to risk this,” she pushed, relying on the only way she knew of to push his buttons. “Not with your son coming back with you to Storybrooke.”

Gold wasn’t so easily swayed, however. Whatever else he was, he was stubborn. “Miss Swan,” he said in that contemptuous tone of his that was only slightly undermined by his current incapacity, “that dagger has not left my possession for centuries. It’s not about to now.”

Emma could be stubborn too, though, and she wasn’t about to let his misguided arrogance put her town and her family in danger. She knew that if Regina and Cora got hold of the dagger, it would be David, Mary Margaret and herself who would suffer.

“Here’s the thing. You’re dying,” she said bluntly. “And right now, we are your best hope. Time’s come for you to start trusting someone. And, if I were you, I’d start with family.”

Gold regarded her steadily for a long moment, not giving any ground. She stared back resolutely, and then he let out an exasperated breath and looked down at his hands. She’d engaged in a staring contest with Rumpelstiltskin and he’d looked away first. Things must really be getting desperate.

“It’s attached to the minute hand of the tower clock in town,” Gold said wearily.

Emma turned on her heel to make her way back out to the fire escape, then turned back to look at Henry.

“Mary Margaret said to tell you it looks like you were right about the Brothers Grimm,” she said. “Sounds like they might be good guys after all.”

He grinned triumphantly at her, then seemed to remember he was angry with her and turned the smile into a scowl. She made her way back outside to call David, her heart aching at the wall that had sprung up between her and Henry. That smile was at least something, though; it gave her hope that their relationship might not be irrevocably damaged. For the moment, she would take what she could get and, once things settled down again (assuming they ever did), she would make it her life’s work to repair the damage and get him to trust her again.

XXXXX

Dean was less than surprised when Mary Margaret returned and reported the failure of her conversation with Regina. He was about to tell her he’d told her so, when Sam caught his eye and shook his head slightly. It bugged him that Sam knew him well enough to predict his response, but he had to admit Sam was probably right; antagonising their allies wasn’t going to achieve anything at this point.

“Can we try it our way now?” he asked, trying to keep his tone level.

Mary Margaret slumped against the desk in the sheriff’s office, defeated. “I guess we don’t have any other choice,” she said, though she sounded less than pleased with the admission.

At that moment, David’s cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and held up a hand. “Everybody hold on,” he said, and answered the call. “Emma?”

Mary Margaret immediately looked up, hope lighting up her eyes again.

“He told you where it is?” David said, then listened for a moment. “Great! We’ll go and grab it now.” He listened again for while, his face registering concern. “Okay, we’ll see you when you get back.” He ended the call and looked round at them all. “The good news is, I know where the dagger is hidden.”

“And the bad news?” Dean prompted.

“Hook tracked Gold to New York and attacked him with some kind of poison. Apparently, he’s dying and they need to get him back here in order to help him. Which means it’s even more important that we get that dagger, so Cora and Regina won’t be able to control him when he gets here.” David looked searchingly at Mary Margaret. “That’s not all. They found Gold’s son, and it turns out he’s Henry’s father.”

Mary Margaret gasped. “So, Gold is…?” She trailed off, as if not wanting to make the obvious connection.

“Henry’s other grandfather,” David finished for her. “Yeah.”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive,” Dean cut in, ignoring Sam’s rolled eyes, “but can we leave the family drama until later? Right now, we need to get that dagger.”

“You’re right,” David said purposefully. “It’s in the clock tower. Follow me.”

XXXXX

Dean brought up the rear as they made their way up the stairs to the top of the clock tower. He and Sam were both armed with shotguns loaded with iron rounds, though Mary Margaret had made them promise not to use them unless it was absolutely necessary. Dean was beginning to think having townsfolk in on the hunt might turn out to be a mistake. Even though normally they had to worry about hiding their activities, at least those activities weren’t restricted by the moral objections of those they were trying to protect. They hadn’t had time to put together the witch-killing spell, so the shotguns were all they had. It wasn’t that Dean relished the idea of shooting two women, but Mary Margaret had to come to terms with the threat they were dealing with, along with the fact that violence was sometimes the only way to prevent harm to innocents.

The stairs brought them out onto a platform behind the clock. David immediately went over to the panes of glass covering the clock mechanism and started removing one. Dean and Sam instinctively took up defensive positions on either side of the staircase, while Mary Margaret watched David anxiously.

“It’s here!” he said triumphantly. “A clever hiding place for a very clever man.”

Dean thought back to the story of Rumpelstiltskin Sam had recounted in the hotel the night before. The guy hadn't seemed that clever, based on that.

David reached inside the clock and detached a long dagger with a strange curved blade from the minute hand. Then he turned and gave it to Mary Margaret, who regarded it in wonder.

“We did it,” she breathed, as if not quite able to believe it.

“The Dark One can finally be controlled,” David said.

Dean didn’t like the sound of that. He’d thought the plan was to get hold of the dagger so that the Dark One couldn’t be controlled, not to use it to control him themselves. Before he could raise that point, though, there was a puff of purple smoke, and Cora and Regina appeared on the other side of the platform.

“Indeed he can be,” Cora said, “but by whom?”

“Cora…” Mary Margaret said, fearfully.

David was less easily intimidated. “You’re too late,” he stated firmly.

“Actually,” Cora said, her tone smug, “it seems that we found you just in time.”

“I told you to pick your side carefully,” Mary Margaret said to Regina, rallying in the face of her husband’s confidence. “Good has won, just as it always does.”

Dean liked the sentiment but wasn’t sure he necessarily agreed with it. He’d seen more of evil triumphing than he’d like to remember, and he didn’t think the current situation was nearly secure enough to claim they’d won yet.

Cora didn’t seem overly affected by Mary Margaret’s statement, either. She said, “I think the day’s finally come, my darling Snow, for you to learn a long overdue lesson.”

She waved her hand and David skidded involuntarily across the platform to stand, immobile, between Regina and Cora. Dean could see him straining against invisible bonds, but they were too strong for him.

“David!” Mary Margaret cried.

“You see, in the end, it isn’t good or evil that wins…” Cora said. “But power.”

Dean was shocked when Regina then plunged her hand right into David’s chest. When she pulled it out a moment later, she was clutching a glowing pink object. David was gasping for breath and his features were contorted with pain. Dean didn’t really understand what was going on, but it was clear it was nothing good.

“Your choice,” Regina said bluntly, her eyes blazing.

“Don’t give them the dagger,” David ground out, every word a supreme effort.

Dean decided enough was enough; if the current situation didn’t warrant extreme measure, he didn’t know what did. With a glance at Sam, he swung up his shotgun and chambered a round, aiming the weapon at Regina. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam do the same, aiming his gun at Cora.

“Mother, watch out,” Regina warned.

Cora waved her hand and Dean felt the gun being ripped from his grip. He tried to hold onto it and was thrown to the ground, losing hold of the gun as he hit the floor.

“Who are your charming friends, by the way?” Cora asked, though her tone suggested she wasn’t really interested.

David didn't give anyone a chance to answer the question anyway. “Just take the dagger and go, Snow!” he said. “Don't give them what they want.”

Regina squeezed the object in her hand, a wicked smile parting her red-painted lips, and David cried out, doubling over with pain. Mary Margaret clutched the dagger to her chest, her face twisted with anguish, tears beginning to course down her cheeks. Dean dragged himself to his feet, looking over to see Sam similarly disarmed and watching the scene unfold, his face uncertain.

“Enough of this,” Cora said. “Surrender the dagger. We all know you’ll follow your mother’s example, no matter the cost. All she ever wanted was for you to be good.”

Mary Margaret gasped. “Those words...” she said. “Where did you hear those words?”

“Where do you think?” Cora asked, her tone light and mocking.

Mary Margaret's face was covered in confusion. “The Blue Fairy made me swear never to speak of that candle again. Not because it was a secret…” She paused for a moment, and her expression cleared and hardened. “But because it wasn’t her.”

Cora refused to be distracted. “The dagger, dear,” she prompted, but Mary Margaret was lost in memory, some kind of revelation spilling out of her as she stared at Cora in growing horror.

“She didn’t give me that candle,” Mary Margaret said, her tone venemous. “You did. My mother wasn’t sick at all, was she?”

Dean had no idea what they were talking about, but it was obvious the connection between them went back a lot further than the present confrontation. It sounded like they were talking about something that had happened in the fairy-tale world. More family drama; just what they needed to complicate things even more.

“Oh, she was quite sick,” Cora said.

Mary Margaret was really angry now. “You did all of this. You killed my mother!”

Cora was completely unperturbed by Mary Margaret's emotion. She was certainly a cold one, Dean thought, and dangerous with it. Regina and David looked on as the confrontation unfolded, the one suffering with Mary Margaret despite his own predicament, the other clearly enjoying Mary Margaret's pain.

“Actually, the candle would’ve worked,” Cora taunted. “You could’ve saved her.”

Mary Margaret was still clearly trying to make sense of the information she was getting from her enemy. “But you knew I wouldn’t. Why? Why did you take her from me?”

“To make my daughter the Queen,” Cora said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Regina was obviously getting tired of all the talking. She squeezed whatever it was she was holding again and demanded, “Hand over the dagger.”

Mary Margaret looked from Regina to David, who was gritting his teeth against the pain of what Regina was doing. “No. No,” she cried. “I will not let you win. Not again!”

“You’ve already lost your mother,” Cora pointed out. “How many loved ones do you have left? Not many, I’d wager.”

“Let me go, Snow,” David said. “The dagger is more important. If they get their hands on it, they'll just kill us both anyway. At least this way, you and Emma get to live.”

Regina squeezed again and David's words choked off.

While Regina was working on Mary Margaret by torturing her husband before her eyes, Cora continued to torment her with her mother's memory. “What would she say if she could see you now? If she wasn’t dead.”

Regina continued to squeeze the object – Dean was starting to wonder if it was actually David's heart – and David cried out in pain.

“The dagger, dear,” Cora prompted again.

“Enough!” Mary Margaret cried, anguish clear in her voice.  
With a moan of despair, she threw the dagger to the ground. Regina loosened her grip on David's heart and Cora summoned the dagger into her hand with magic.

“Such a good girl,” Cora said patronisingly.

Mary Margaret's shoulders slumped. “You have what you came for,” she said wearily. “Now let him go.”

Regina thrust her hand back into David's chest and pulled it out again, minus the heart. Whatever bonds had been holding David in place were suddenly removed and he staggered across the platform into Mary Margaret's arms.

Cora seemed to consider for a moment, then said, “I think not.”

Several things happened at once. Cora waved her hand, sending David spinning towards the clock face, Mary Margaret screamed, Cora and Regina vanished in a whirl of purple smoke, and Dean launched himself into David's path. As the witches disappeared, Dean collided with David, throwing them both to the ground before David could hit the clock and potentially fall through it to his death. They landed heavily, and Dean felt the breath whoosh out of his lungs. He lay unmoving for a long moment, then Sam appeared above him, offering him a hand up. He let his brother pull him to his feet, and looked around to check that the witches were really gone.

Mary Margaret was crouched on the ground at David's side. “David, are you okay?” she asked, anxiously.

“Yeah,” he replied breathlessly, sitting up. He looked up at Dean. “Thanks to you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Mary Margaret echoed, her eyes shining. “I should have known Cora would never keep her word. Everything about her is pure evil.” She looked back down at the ground. “And now she has the dagger. And it's all my fault.”

David took her in his arms, holding her tightly against him. “Don't do that to yourself,” he said softly. “I know I said you shouldn't give it to her, but I can't help feeling just a bit glad you did.”

She clutched at him. “I couldn't lose you,” she said, her voice breaking. “Not like that. I may have doomed us all, but I just couldn't let her kill you.”

“It's okay,” David said soothingly. “We're still here, and we can still fight. It's not over yet. As soon as Emma and Gold get back, we can formulate a plan and figure out a way to beat them, once and for all.”

Dean crossed to where David was sitting and held out his hand to help him up. When David was back on his feet, he kept his grip on Dean's hand for a moment and laid his other hand on Dean's shoulder.

“Seriously,” he said. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

Dean threw him a sideways grin. “All part of the service,” he quipped. “It's what superheroes do, after all.”

XXXXX

Towards evening, they all made their way down to the docks to meet the party returning from New York. As they waited, Mary Margaret paced up and down, her expression murderous.

“What is it?” David asked her after a couple of minutes.

She stopped and faced him, her arms crossed over her chest.

“I've had the same rule my entire life – hold on to goodness,” she said. “It's what my mother taught me, and it nearly cost you your life today.” Her features twisted. “How many more lives is following that lesson going to take away from me?”

David stepped up to her and put his hands on her shoulders, capturing her gaze with a searching look.

“You can't let Cora make you lose faith in who you are – someone who does the right thing.” He ran his hands up and down her arms as if trying to warm her up. “You know that's exactly what she wants.”

It was a good argument, Dean thought, but Mary Margaret obviously wasn't buying it. She shook him off and backed away from him.

“I made the 'right' decision when I stopped Regina's execution all those years ago,” she said bitterly. “When it could've saved us all of this heartache. I made the 'right' decision when I sent Emma through the wardrobe alone, and we didn't see her first steps.” Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away from them all in frustration. “I made the 'right' decision when I let my own mother die from Cora's poison.”

Dean realised there was still an awful lot of background to this situation that he and Sam didn't know. These people had been battling Cora and Regina for an awfully long time and it was clearly taking its toll. They seemed like decent folk, and it saddened Dean to see Mary Margaret in such despair. It was hurting David, too, he could see.

“And we keep beating them,” David said, still trying to talk Mary Margaret round.

Mary Margaret rounded on him. “At what cost?” she asked him. “I almost lost you today. What if next time, it's Emma? Or Henry? All I want is our happy ending. It's time. We've earned it. No more lives lost. No more hearts broken.”

“We'll get the dagger back,” David persisted. “And when we do, we can bring Cora and Regina to justice.”

Dean had to give David credit for optimism in the face of overwhelming odds, but personally he was of the opinion that a more permanent solution was the only answer. Mary Margaret apparently agreed with him.

“I don't care about justice any more,” she said, her tone grim. “We keep thinking that people will change. What if that's wrong? What if I'm the one who has to change?”

“Change how?” David looked really frightened now, and Dean couldn't blame him. It was scary to see someone you loved reach breaking point.

“I'm going to kill Cora,” Mary Margaret announced, her voice eerily calm and her face set.

David looked at her in horror, and Dean realised what it was that he and Sam were there to do. Mary Margaret might be resolved that she could kill someone, but she hadn't actually been put in the position of putting that to the test yet. He and Sam had faced down countless evils and been forced to kill all kinds of monsters – human and otherwise. Once you had crossed that line, there was no going back, and he wouldn't wish that on anyone, particularly not someone like Mary Margaret, who had lived her life following the path of goodness. Dean knew that sometimes it was necessary to do unsavoury things in order to stop worse things from happening, but if there was some way he could prevent Mary Margaret from having to kill Cora to protect her family, he would take it.

The sound of something large approaching across the water pulled his attention away from Mary Margaret, though he couldn't see anything when he looked out to sea. He was startled when people suddenly started appearing out of thin air as if they were stepping off a ship. He recognised Emma and Henry, but they were followed by two unfamiliar men, the older one leaning heavily on the younger one as they made their way down onto the dock.

Mary Margaret went straight to Emma. “Are you okay?” she asked, anxiously.

“Yeah. Yeah, we're all right,” Emma reassured her with a tired smile.

David went to help support the older man to the truck, which he had parked nearby. Henry was hovering around the group, and he now looked up at David with excitement in his eyes.

“Uh, I drove a ship,” he said, clearly desperate to talk about it, while at the same time not sure if it was appropriate in the circumstances.

“Did you now?” David replied with an indulgent smile.

“Yeah,” Henry said, “my dad showed me how.” He looked shyly up at the man on the other side of what Dean assumed must be Gold.

“That’s… me,” the man said, his broad features quirking in a self-conscious smile.

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam and couldn’t help smiling, too. Even in the midst of a potentially lethal situation, it was still possible for a kid to brag about how cool his dad was and have his family be proud of him. Maybe there was hope for this town, after all. Dean and Sam trailed after the main group, hanging back a little. Dean suddenly felt rather out of place at this family reunion, and found himself almost wishing for some kind of attack so he would have something useful to do.

David and Henry’s father set Gold down on the back of the track. His thin face was drawn with pain and he was out of breath, though he still managed to say, “Thank you, thank you.”

Dean was surprised to hear a slight Scottish lilt to his words. This was the guy who was at the centre of this whole thing, and presumably who had answers that might help them resolve it. Dean stepped forwards, inserting himself into the family grouping.

“You must be the Dark One we’ve been hearing so much about,” he said as an opener, selecting the most provocative of Gold’s aliases in order to see what reaction he’d get.

Gold regarded him coldly. “And you are?” he asked imperiously.

“He’s a superhero,” Henry piped up. “He and his brother have come to help us fight Cora.”

Dean grinned at the kid, then looked back to Gold, who was staring at him sceptically, clearly waiting for a more sensible answer.

“What he said,” Dean stated, indicating Henry. “Now, the witches have your dagger, so I’m guessing time is of the essence here. So, what’s our next move?”

“Is Cora trying to control you with the dagger?” David asked, deflecting Gold’s attention away from Dean.

“Oh, you’d know if she was,” Gold said in a superior voice, “because most of you would be dead by now.” Dean almost thought he sounded a bit disappointed that they weren’t.

“Well, then we’ll just have to take the fight to her before that can happen,” Mary Margaret said resolutely. “And this time, we finish it.”

David looked troubled again. “Mary Margaret…” he started, but she cut him off.

“David. She needs to be stopped. She needs to be killed.” Her voice wavered ever so slightly on that last word, but then she continued firmly. “This is our family. We are going to protect it.”

David wasn’t about to be swayed from his objections. “Of course we will, but what you’re talking about goes beyond that.”

“Does it?” She looked at him, her eyes hard. “Because she is the reason you’ve never met my mother.”

“I know,” he replied. “I know what happened to Queen Eva, and I have zero problem with Cora dying for it. But not by your hand, and not out of vengeance.”

“Why?” she asked.

He reached out to touch her. “Because you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. You have the purest heart of anyone I have ever known. That’s who you are, and that’s who you’re going to stay.”

Sam spoke up unexpectedly. “He’s right about the vengeance thing, too,” he said, giving Mary Margaret his most earnest expression. “If you go into this fight focused on your hatred for Cora and fixated on destroying her, more people than just her are likely to get hurt. The need for vengeance can stop you from thinking clearly when it matters the most.”

Mary Margaret folded her arms stubbornly, but Dean could see that Sam’s words had hit home, and he hoped she would remember them later.

Emma brought their attention back to Gold by asking him if he was okay. It seemed like a bit of a stupid question, since he looked like death warmed over, but he answered her civilly.

“I’m beginning to feel a bit stronger. Take me back to my shop. There’s magic there that can protect us.”

“Let me guess,” Henry said, looking up at Emma resignedly. “I get to go hang out at the diner with Ruby.”

“You got it, kid,” she said, but her tone was affectionate. She turned to David and Mary Margaret. “You guys go ahead to the shop with Gold. I’ll make sure Henry’s secure and come meet you there in a few minutes.”

“Hang on,” Dean said, as a thought struck him. “As I understand it, you’re likely to be one of Cora’s main targets. You should get to the shop’s protection with the others. I’ll take the kid to the diner.”

“No offence,” she said, looking at him askance, “but there’s no way I’m entrusting my kid to a complete stranger.” She gave him a wry smile. “Even if you are a superhero.”

Henry’s father spoke up. “I’ll go with them,” he offered. “Cora and Regina don’t even know I’m here, so they won’t be targeting me.”

Emma looked uncertain, as if she wasn't sure he was a much better choice to safeguard their son, but she glanced at Henry and evidently thought better of saying it. She threw her hands up in surrender. “Fine,” she said. “Now let’s all get moving before anything happens.”

“Don’t look so worried,” Henry told her. “You’ll stop Cora. You won’t let her get away.”

Dean wished he shared the kid’s optimism. He set off away from the dock in the direction of the diner, Henry and his father following him.

“Dean Winchester,” he said, holding out his hand as they walked.

The other man took his hand and shook it.

“Neal Cassady,” he said.

“Is Dean Winchester your actual secret identity, or just another alias?” Henry wanted to know.

“That one’s the real thing, kid,” Dean said with a smile. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m afraid I don’t have a cool superhero name to go with it.” A thought struck him and he turned back to Neal. “If you’re Rumpelstiltskin’s son, you must have a fairy tale identity, too, right?” Dean continued. “Sam and I did some research into your dad the other day, but none of the stories mentioned him having a son.”

“That’s because you were looking at the wrong stories,” Henry told him. “My book has the real ones, and my dad’s in there.”

The kid’s face was so open and trusting; Dean could see why his family were so desperate to protect him. Considering he’d been raised by the so-called Evil Queen, though, he was already embroiled pretty much as far as he could be. His innocence shone from his eyes, and Dean wondered how he’d managed to hold onto it so long in the circumstances. He and Sam had lost theirs well before they were the same age as Henry.

Dean threw a sidelong glance at Neal. “So, what does a guy called Rumpelstiltskin name his son, anyway?” he asked.

Neal glowered at him. “Baelfire,” he muttered.

Dean stifled a laugh, looking instead down at Henry. “You’ll have to come up with a superhero name for me,” he said. “Something awesome, like your dad’s.”

“Okay,” Henry laughed. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

Not long afterwards, they reached the diner and went inside. Henry immediately selected a booth for them, and the two men joined him.

“I’m obviously going to stay here with Henry for the time being,” Neal said. “But what are you going to do?”

“Let me call Sam and find out what the situation is,” Dean said. He pulled out his phone and dialled Sam. His brother picked up on the second ring.

“Dean, you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just hanging out at the diner,” Dean told him. “No witch activity round here that I can tell. How about you?”

“We got inside the shop okay,” Sam reported, “and Gold's got the others putting up some kind of protective barrier – get this – with invisible magic chalk.”

Dean snorted.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said. “Anyway, he says it'll stop Cora and Regina from getting in for a while, so we've got time to come up with a plan.”

“Any thoughts on that?” Dean asked. He was glad to hear that Sam was safe, and he was doubly glad that Sam was the one behind the protective shield, even if he didn't put much stock in magic chalk. Still, Gold was in the shop and he was the witches' target, so that's where their attack would land and Sam would be right in the line of fire.

“Actually, yes,” Sam said. “Since we're not under immediate time pressure, I thought maybe you could put together some of the witch-killing hexes and bring them with you when come over.”

“Sure thing,” Dean said. “I'll head over to the car now and pick up the ingredients. I'll see you in a bit. Don't let anyone blow you up before I get there, okay?”

“Why, cause you want to watch?” Sam quipped, then hung up before Dean could respond.

“Jerk,” Dean said to dead air anyway, then looked up to see Neal and Henry staring at him.

“Ingredients for what?” Henry asked, fascinated.

Dean gave him a grin. “Oh, just some party favours we thought we'd throw into the mix,” he said. “We've got a spell that specifically targets witches, and we figured it might come in handy, but it takes a while to cook up.”

Neal was openly staring. “Who are you guys?” he demanded.

“Says the man whose father is an imp who can spin straw into gold,” Dean said, drily.

“Fair point,” Neal capitulated.

Henry was looking troubled. “When you say the spell targets witches, what do you mean?” he asked.

“Kills them stone dead,” Dean said. “It's like you said earlier; Cora's not getting away this time. Anyway, I'd better get going if I'm going to have time to make up some hex bags and still get to Gold's shop before the action starts. I'll see you guys later.”

XXXXX

Sam hung up on Dean and lowered his phone to see Gold regarding him speculatively. Emma, David and Mary Margaret were in the front of the shop, marking all the doors and windows with the invisible chalk, while Sam was in the back room, where they had deposited Gold on the couch.

“Witch-killing hexes?” Gold asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said, “It's something Dean and I have used before. I thought we could use them as delaying tactics at the very least. And, you never know, they might work against Cora.”

“Maybe so,” Gold mused. “But they won't do me any good.” He looked at Sam appraisingly. “You look like a useful young man. Perhaps you could do something for me.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. He had to remember this wasn't just a sick old man, but a powerful supernatural creature with a long history of manipulation. “What would you want me to do?” he asked warily.

Gold gestured, then winced at the pain the movement caused. “Open that cupboard and bring what's inside to me.”

Sam crossed to the cupboard. Inside was a candle, resting sideways on a stand. It was half black and half white, with a wick at both ends. Sam reached inside the cupboard and lifted the candle carefully out, turning back to Gold with it in his hands.

“What are you going to do with this?” he asked.

“I'm not going to do anything with it,” Gold replied. “You are. I was originally planning to get the lovely Mary Margaret to do it, for the sake of symmetry, but I'm not sure I can trust her to follow through when it really comes down to it.”

Sam remembered something from the confrontation in the clock tower. “Mary Margaret mentioned a candle before – something to do with not being able to save her mother.”

“You pay attention – that's good,” Gold said approvingly. “That is indeed the same candle. Now, the problem we have here is that even though I'm back in Storybrooke, I'm not getting any better. In addition, Cora's power is very strong, and likely impervious to most attacks. That candle will allow you to kill one person, no matter how powerful, in order to save another, no matter how sick – a neat solution to our little predicament, I think you'll agree.”

Too neat, Sam thought, but everyone had now agreed that Cora needed to be killed, and Emma seemed committed to trying to save Gold, so it appeared the candle would resolve things rather well.

“What do I have to do?” he asked.

“You must light the candle at both ends and hold it over the intended target while whispering their name,” Gold said.

Here was the inevitable catch.

“And I supposed you think Cora is just going to stand still and let me do that,” Sam said, sarcastically.

“Of course not,” Gold scoffed. “But what she thinks is her greatest strength is going to turn out to be her biggest weakness. Cora removed her own heart long ago, to protect her from the pitfalls of love, but she'll have it somewhere close by. Holding the candle over the heart will work just as well. Then you just have to put the heart back inside Cora's body. She will die, and I will live.”

“Put it back in her body?” Sam was liking this plan less and less. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“I imagine the opportunity may well present itself,” Gold said. “Let's just get the first step out of the way, and worry about that later.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He'd done weirder and more dangerous things in the course of a hunt, and it was the best plan they had. “Where do I find the heart?”

XXXXX

Henry stirred his milkshake with his straw thoughtfully. He shifted in his seat and sighed.

“Hey, I know you're worried about Emma and the others,” Neal said from his seat opposite him, “but they'll be fine. You said so yourself.”

Henry managed a smile at his dad – it still seemed really strange to think of Neal that way – and said, “I know.”

In fact, it wasn't Emma, David and Mary Margaret he was worried about. Well, that wasn't exactly true – of course he was worried about them facing Cora, but he had faith that they would prevail. Good always triumphed in the end, and fairy tales always had a happy ending. His confidence in those universal truths hadn't been shaken, even after everything that had happened. The problem was that the wicked characters inevitably got their come-uppance, and it usually wasn't pretty. What he was really worried about was what might happen to Regina, whom he still couldn't help thinking of as his mom. Dean had said he was going to prepare spells that would kill witches and, as far as Dean was concerned, Regina was a witch like Cora, and would need to be killed, like Cora.

Henry had no illusions about Regina's past actions. He knew she had done terrible things, and continued to work on the side of evil. But he also knew that she loved him and had tried, in her own way, to do what she thought was best for him all these years. And he didn't want her to die. That was the wrong ending for her, and for him. He needed her to have another chance to redeem herself, to see that she'd been wrong and to find the good path. It was the only way the story could come to a satisfactory conclusion, and that would never happen if Dean killed her.

Henry reached a decision. He knew he was the only one who really cared what happened to Regina, so he would need to be there to make sure she wasn't harmed. He looked up at Neal.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he said, sliding out of the booth.

He left his rucksack on the seat so as to allay suspicion, and made his way to the back of the diner. Instead of turning left to the bathrooms, though, he turned right and slipped out of the back door. Breaking into a run, he headed for Mr Gold's shop.

XXXXX

Sam made his way through the crypt, briefly amused that that seemed like such a normal thing to be doing on a Friday night. Gold had guessed that this would be where Cora's heart was stored, and had given him directions. Cora and Regina had turned up at the shop just after that and Sam had managed to get out unseen during the confusion of their arrival. He felt bad about leaving the others to deal with the witches on their own, but Gold had suggested that using the candle on Cora's heart would be the quickest and easiest way to defeat her, so he consoled himself with the thought that he was actually pursuing the most useful lead they had. The protection spell should last at least until he got back, so they should be fine. He was armed with his shotgun (iron rounds already in the chamber) and some iron manacles he'd found in the Impala's trunk, just in case.

The tunnel he was walking through suddenly broadened out into a large room filled with chests and boxes. He stopped to survey the scene, wondering where he should start looking, and that was when he heard it. A low, pulsing sound, almost beyond his level of hearing, but regular and strangely intense. After a moment, he realised what it sounded like. It was a heartbeat. He stood completely still, closed his eyes and listened. As he concentrated on the sound, it grew more distinct and he could tell it was coming from somewhere to his left.

He opened his eyes again and made his way towards the sound, opening containers as he went. Before long, he came across a small box inside an elaborate chest, which was suffused with a pink glow. It had a padlock on it, but he made short work of that with his lock picks, and flipped the lid up to reveal a pulsing pink object, resting on plush satin lining. It looked like whatever Regina had pulled from David's chest in the clock tower; it had to be Cora's heart.

Sam set the small box down on top of a crate and drew the candle from his jacket pocket. Holding it over the heart, he lit both ends as per Gold's instructions and whispered, “Cora. Cora.”

That was apparently all it took, so he snuffed out both wicks and put the candle back in his pocket. He closed the box lid and picked it up, then turned to leave the chamber. As he made his way towards the tunnel, Regina appeared from the other end and they both stopped dead, facing each other.

“You have no right to be here,” Regina said. “And you have no right to that!” She gestured at the box.

Sam thought fast. He was encumbered by the box and wouldn't have time to bring his shotgun up before she could use magic on him, so he would have to come up with another way to get past her. He had seen the strained mother-daughter dynamic between Regina and Cora in the woods, and he certainly knew more than most about parent issues.

“She can't love you, you know,” he said. “She doesn't have her heart.”

Regina's features twisted, and Sam knew he'd hit a nerve. He forged on, slowly walking forwards as he spoke, keeping her distracted with his words.

“Trust me,” he said. “I spent some time without my soul a while back, and I would have thought taking out your heart would have the same effect. It makes you empty, cold. You can remember what emotions are, and how you're supposed to react to things, but you can't feel it. Nothing can really touch you, and you can do the most terrible things to those closest to you without a qualm. It may seem to them that you're acting normally and that you love them, but it can only be a pretence.”

Regina was transfixed, staring at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“What are you saying?” she whispered.

“Think about it,” he said. “What would happen if Cora had her heart back? Back inside her.”

“She told me she took it out to protect herself,” Regina said, her tone uncertain.

“And did it work?” Sam knew he was manipulating her in the worst way, but it was all he could think of to keep her from attacking him and putting the heart back into storage. He already knew he couldn't take her on physically, not without something to counteract her magic. Now that the heart was cursed by the spell in the candle, the best thing to do would be to convince Regina that Cora needed it back inside her. Then, even if she somehow overpowered him, she might actually complete the spell herself in an attempt to get her mother's love. “The person she was before... Do you think that person survived? She can't love, so she can't love you.”

“She always wanted the best for me,” Regina protested. “That's love.”

“Imagine real love,” Sam said, and couldn't help imagining it for himself as he said it. That almost made him waver, but he put thoughts of his own mother out of his mind and pressed on. “You'd have a mother, and a start on making a family Henry could be a part of. Or, you could have her be the Dark One. The choice is yours.”

He held out the box to her, and she took it with trembling hands. Then, while she was focused entirely on the box and what he had been saying about her mother, he brought up the iron manacles and clapped them around one of her wrists. She cried out and dropped the box in surprise. It hit the ground and burst open, the heart spilling out and rolling away.

Regina pulled away from Sam, and a small fireball started to manifest in her other hand. The iron was taking effect, however, and the fireball fizzled and died before she could throw it. She tried to physically push him away, but he was obviously much stronger than her and easily subdued her. He pinned her arms to her sides and marched her back down the tunnel to the main part of the crypt. There was a stone sarcophagus with sturdy handles and Sam fed the manacle chain through one before fastening the end round Regina's other wrist. Then he turned to go back for the heart.

“What are you doing?” Regina shrieked. “What do you want with my mother's heart?”

Sam ignored her, quickly jogging back to where the heart had fallen and putting it back in its box. He made his way past Regina and out of the crypt, closing the door on her shouts and curses.

XXXXX

Back at the shop, Cora was still trying to gain entry. If there was one thing she could say about Rumpelstiltskin it was that he really knew his defensive magic. She knew he was weakening, though, and it was only a matter of time before she broke through. She didn't know why the others bothered trying to protect him; her victory was inevitable. She imagined what it would be like when they were all out of the way; Regina would have no qualms about eliminating Snow White and her ridiculous Prince Charming, or their pesky daughter. There was always Henry, though. When it came down to it, Henry would always come between them, and Regina would always care more about him than she did about Cora. Regina would never truly be hers while the boy lived, but she would never be Cora's at all if the boy died at her hand.

As if he had been summoned by her thoughts, Cora caught sight of Henry at the far end of the street, running towards the shop, and an idea sparked in her mind. The boy had to die, and the best way to cement Regina's hatred and bitterness forever would be for it to be at the hand of his birth mother. Regina was nicely out of the way, going to investigate whoever Cora had felt interfering with her belongings in the crypt, so she wouldn't see what happened. And, after it was all over, she would have to believe Cora's version, because Cora would be the only one left alive to tell it.

Cora redoubled her efforts against the barrier and finally felt it give way before her superior power. She stalked into the shop and through to the back room, where her enemies were waiting. Rumpelstiltskin was laid out on a couch, clearly beyond being any kind of threat to her. Snow White and Prince Charming were lined up in front of him, brandishing swords, while Emma stood to one side, with a gun in her hand. Perfect.

With a wave of one hand, Cora disarmed Snow and Charming and sent them careening towards the back wall, where she pinned them with invisible bonds. With the other hand, she reached out towards Emma and closed her fingers into a fist, taking hold of Emma's will and bending it to her bidding. She threw a triumphant glance at Rumpelstiltskin, who lay helpless before her.

“I'll come back to deal with you shortly,” she said.

She beckoned and Emma followed her stiffly out of the shop and onto the street, her face contorted with the futile effort of resisting Cora's will. As they emerged into the darkening evening, Henry skidded to a stop in front of them, his expression horrified.

“Emma!” he cried, clearly frozen and unsure what to do.

Cora brought her arm up and Emma echoed her movement, raising her gun to aim it directly at her son. Tears were streaming down her face, but she was powerless to stop what Cora was making her do.

“Say goodbye to your mother, boy,” Cora said coldly, and twitched her fingers.

XXXXX

Dean had made short work of preparing the witch-killing hexes and was on his way to join the others at the shop. He turned the corner onto the main street and took in the scene in a matter of seconds.

Three people were in the street outside the shop. Cora's face radiated pure malice as she gestured with her arms, clearly working magic of some kind. It wasn't difficult to see her purpose, since Emma was walking out of the shop behind her, her movements slow and jerky, as if she wasn't in control of her own body. Her features registered hatred and frustration as she moved past Cora, then her expression shifted to horror as she caught sight of the third figure.

Henry was standing on the sidewalk, looking between Emma and Cora in fear and confusion.

Dean saw the gun in Emma's hand, dropped the hex bags he was carrying and started to run.

XXXXX

Emma raised the gun, fighting not to, but unable to stop herself. She could barely see Henry through the tears that were coursing down her cheeks, but she could tell he wasn't moving, wasn't running away. Why couldn't the damn kid ever do what he was told and just stay out of harm's way? What was he even doing there?

“Say goodbye to your mother, boy,” she heard Cora say behind her, and then she felt her fingers squeeze the trigger.

“Nooo!” The scream ripped its way out of her throat, but it was too late.

As two shots rang out, Dean appeared from nowhere and threw himself at Henry, knocking them both to the ground, where they lay unmoving.

Emma's heart was trying to rise up through her chest and choke her to death, but she still couldn't move. She could only stare at the still body of her son and wonder if she'd killed him.

XXXXX

Sam arrived back at the shop just in time to see Dean collide with Henry as Emma fired the gun at them.

“Dean!” he shouted in anguish, and broke into a run.

Before Cora could react to his presence, he was right behind her, heart in hand. Without even thinking about it, he thrust the heart towards her and pushed. There was a sickening sensation as cloth and flesh gave way beneath his fingers, and Cora jolted with shock. Sam let go of the heart and withdrew his hand. Cora staggered, then turned slowly to face him, her expression a riot of different emotions; surprise, briefly happiness, then growing horror as the curse started to take effect. She looked down at her own chest, where a hole had appeared and was slowly getting bigger. Then she collapsed to the ground and lay still.

Everything happened very quickly after that. Emma dropped to her knees as if she'd suddenly been released from some kind of forcefield.

She cried, “Henry!” in a strangled voice and scrambled over to where he lay with Dean on top of him.

David and Mary Margaret came pelting out of the shop as if they were on fire and ran to join her.

But Sam was there too, and he pushed them all out of the way, kneeling on the hard paving stones and laying trembling hands on his brother. He carefully rolled Dean off the kid and onto his back. There was blood everywhere, covering both of them. Henry looked up at them, his eyes wide and frightened.

“Henry, Henry!” Emma sobbed. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” Henry said haltingly.

David briskly opened his jacket to reveal an unstained t-shirt underneath, and breathed a sigh of relief. Sam was glad to see Henry was unhurt, but that meant the blood was Dean's. He echoed David's movements with Dean's jacket, and the story was a very different one. Dean's shirt was saturated with blood, which was welling up from two gunshot wounds high on the left side of his chest. Sam quickly shrugged out of his own jacket, balled it up and pressed it down hard on the wounds. Dean groaned and blood trickled out of his mouth. That was not a good sign. Sam looked round wildly and spotted Gold standing in the doorway of his shop, leaning heavily against the doorframe. Sam remembered what Belle had told them about Gold healing her when she had been shot.

“Can't you do something?” Sam called to him.

“I'm afraid not,” Gold said wearily. “Cora's death did heal me, but my power hasn't come back yet. I'm too weak for healing. I'm sorry.”

“Get him in the truck,” David said. “We'll take him to the hospital.”

XXXXX

The next morning, Sam was sitting in an uncomfortable chair, watching his brother breathing. Dean was hooked up to a load of machines, and it was frighteningly like the time after the car accident when they'd thought he would die and their father had made a deal with the yellow-eyed demon to save his life.

This time, though, there was no demon. In a way, Sam was glad of that, since they'd both made too many deals to save each other in the interim, and it never worked out the way it was supposed to. He was scared, though, scared that this time he would lose Dean for real and he wouldn't be able to get him back.

Dr Wale had operated overnight, but he wasn't confident in Dean's prognosis. He said the bullets had punctured one of Dean's lungs and damaged his aorta, and that time would tell. Sam hated waiting and he hated uncertainty. What he hated most was not being able to do anything. So he sat and worried and brooded and fumed, and none of it did any good.

Sam heard footsteps and looked up to see David standing in the doorway.

“Can I come in?” David asked, moving into the room at Sam's nod. “How's he doing?”

“Not good,” Sam said wearily. “Dr Wale did the best he could, but...” He trailed off, not willing to put the likely outcome into words.

“Well, I can't thank you enough for what you did – both of you,” David said. “I'm sorry it ended so badly for Dean, but I'm more than grateful to you. For saving Henry, obviously, but for Mary Margaret's sake, as well.”

Sam thought back to how hard and determined Mary Margaret had been on the docks, and was glad that his and Dean's presence had prevented her from becoming a murderer.

“It's what we do,” he said simply. “And I know Dean wouldn't regret his actions for a second.”

That was true, and it was something to cling on to, even if the worst did happen. Considering all the things they'd faced over the years, and all the things they'd been forced to do, Sam thought Dean would consider giving his life to save a child a worthy ending.

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat, and Sam looked round to see Gold entering the room. He looked like an entirely different person, still using a cane, but standing strongly and with his features no longer clouded by pain. Sam's heart leapt, and Gold confirmed his hopes with his opening words.

“Still in the market for healing?” he asked.

The ghost of his father sprang into his mind, and Sam hesitated. He and Dean had already made the connection between Rumpelstiltskin and demon deals, and the last thing he wanted was to be beholden to this creature, even if it did mean getting Dean healthy.

“What's your price?” he forced himself to ask.

“Oh the price has already been paid, dearie,” Gold said lightly. “You did save my life, after all.” He gestured at Dean's motionless body. “A life for a life. You can't say fairer than that.”

“Then, yes,” Sam said, feeling a wave of weakness wash over him. “Please.”

Gold made his way into the room and stood over Dean. He laid one hand on Dean's chest, where the bandages were heaviest, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For a second, nothing happened, then Dean suddenly convulsed and started choking on the tubes that were down his throat. It was exactly like when the demon had brought him back all those years ago, and Sam was momentarily rooted to the spot by the memory, thinking of what had happened just afterwards and how they had lost their father.

David took control of the situation and ran to get a nurse to disconnect Dean from the machines before he suffocated. A few minutes later, the drama was over, and Dean was sitting up in bed, entirely recovered. David had gone to tell his family the news and Gold hadn't stuck around for gratitude, but Dr Wale was in the room, checking Dean over.

“All this magic is going to put me right out of a job,” he joked. “There's nothing wrong with you, so you can leave whenever you're ready.”

“We're glad you were there last night when the magic wasn't,” Sam pointed out. “Thank you. Hang on, though, how come you're still working with mundane medicine now that there's magic in town? Don't you have magic from your fairy tale identity?”

Dr Wale smiled. “I've always been a scientist, not a magician,” he said. “In my world, my name was Victor Frankenstein.”

“Dr Frankenstein?” Sam repeated, trying desperately to suppress laughter. “You're kidding! Well, thanks again, anyway.”

“Yeah, thanks, doc,” Dean echoed, looking daggers at Sam, as if daring him to comment.

“No problem,” Wale said and made his exit, almost colliding with Regina, who was on her way into the room.

Sam tensed, and moved instinctively between Dean and the potential threat.

“Oh, relax,” Regina said. “I haven't come to kill you.” Her expression was troubled, though, belying the lightness of her tone.

Sam had told Emma where to find Regina the night before, and she had obviously been released from the manacles and didn't appear to be under any kind of supervision. Sam wasn't sure what that meant.

“I came to thank you,” Regina said to Dean, “for saving my son.” She looked at Sam, her features twisting. “And you. I – I don't know what to say to you. You killed my mother, but she was trying to kill my son, so...” She trailed off. “What you said in the crypt – about how she could never love me without her heart. It seems clear from her actions that that was true. But you also said she might change if she got her heart back, and now I'll never know. You took that possibility away from me, so I can't thank you.”

“I understand,” Sam said, and left it at that.

She turned back to Dean. “But you put yourself in harm's way to protect Henry, and for that I will always be grateful.”

Dean swung his legs out of the bed to rest his feet on the floor and looked up at her. “You've got an awesome kid, there,” he said, “and, from what I hear, for some reason he believes in you. Don't ask me why, but he does. Why don't you try living up to his expectations for once? That's the only way you're ever going to be able to stay in his life.”

Regina dropped her gaze to the floor. “You're probably right,” she said, though she didn't look happy to have it pointed out to her. She turned without looking at them and left.

Dean stood up and stretched. “Well, Sammy,” he said, “I guess it's time for us to hit the road, assuming there are some clothes around here I can put on.”

On their way out of the hospital, they passed Belle's room and saw that Gold was visiting her again. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and she was holding his hand, so they decided not to interrupt. Sam didn't know what had changed between them, but he hoped they managed to work things out.

XXXXX

Dean led the way back to Granny's to collect their stuff from their room. Then they headed round to the garage, where the Impala was still parked. As they were putting their bags in the trunk, he heard footsteps behind them and turned to find Emma and Henry approaching.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” Emma asked.

Dean shrugged. “We figured you'd probably have enough to deal with,” he said.

“Glad to see you're up and around,” she said, a wealth of emotion evident behind the simple words.

“Yeah,” he replied just as nonchalantly, “Gold paid me a visit at the hospital.” He rolled his shoulders. “Good as new.”

“Well, that doesn't diminish what you did,” Emma continued. “Both of you. First impressions notwithstanding, I have to say I'm glad you came to town.”

“Oh, hey, Henry,” Dean said, remembering their conversation of the day before – had it really only been the day before? “What happened to my superhero name?”

“What about 'Frankenstein's Monster'?” Sam suggested with a smirk.

“You just shut up,” Dean said, with a glare. “Let the kid think.”

Henry's face was a study of concentration. Dean thought it was really cute that he was obviously taking the request seriously, though he figured the kid wouldn't appreciate him saying that.

After a few seconds' silence, Henry said, “Witch Bane.”

“Witch Bane.” Dean tried it on for size and found he liked it. He threw a smug smile at Sam. “Hear that? That's what you've got to call me from now on.”

Henry beamed at him, while Sam glowered.

“I'm the one who actually killed the witch, you know,” Sam groused.

“And you know who that makes you?” Dean said, his lips twitching.

“Who?” Sam asked immediately, walking straight into the trap.

“Dorothy.”

Emma burst out laughing and Sam punched Dean in the arm. Dean dodged out of the way with a grin and made his way round to the driver's side of the car.

“Stay out of trouble, kid,” he called out to Henry, who ducked his head ashamedly. “And feel free to give us a call if you have any more witch problems,” he said to Emma.

“Hopefully, our witch problems are over for the time being,” Emma said, putting her hands protectively on Henry's shoulders, “but we'll let you know. Drive safe.”

Dean and Sam both got into the car, Emma and Henry waving as they drove away.

They'd been driving for a while when Sam broke the silence.

“Dean?” he said, quietly.

“That's 'Witch Bane' to you,” Dean shot back.

Sam remained silent, making Dean realise he wanted a serious conversation. Dean steeled himself for what might be coming and asked softly, “What is it?”

“How is that kid so normal?” Sam said.

Dean remembered his own thoughts along those lines from the day before. It always hurt him when Sam expressed regret at how they'd grown up.

“That kid is not normal,” he said. “No kid that age should be so optimistic and confident that good will prevail. I think there must be something in the water in that town.”

“You remember what David said about Mary Margaret having a pure heart, and that he didn't want to see it corrupted?” Sam asked.

Dean glanced over at his brother to see a familiar troubled expression on his face.

“Yeah, what of it?” he asked cautiously.

“Nobody's ever going to say that about us, are they?” Sam sounded lost, and very young.

“It's a tough job, Sammy,” Dean said, wincing inwardly as the cliché passed his lips, “but somebody's got to do it.”

Sam looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

“I mean,” Dean went on, trying desperately to click in to the tone of the conversation while all his instincts screamed at him to deflect with jokes and platitudes, “what we do may not be pretty, but it saves lives. Whatever those nice folks in their cutesy town might have wanted, that witch needed to be put down, and we were there to do it for them. There was no way anything other than death was going to stop her. And at least we saved Mary Margaret from having to do it.”

“I know,” Sam said, “but I used some fairly underhanded tactics with Regina in that crypt. I took her relationship with her mother and twisted it like a knife in her so I could overpower her.”

“Maybe,” Dean said, “but it stopped her from being in the line of fire when the shit hit the fan. And that means she has the chance to mend her relationship with her son. So, I would say the end justified the means this time.”

“Did it, though?” Sam was just being stubborn now, Dean thought. “And, even if it did, can we say that every time? What happens when we hit a situation where the answer to the problem isn't justifiable?”

“What's this really about, Sam?” Dean demanded, sick of the circling and wanting to get to the point.

Sam sighed heavily. “I'm just starting to think – maybe I was being naïve.”

Dean was getting frustrated now. Why couldn't Sam ever just say what he meant without beating around the bush for ten minutes first? “What're you talking about?” he asked.

“When I said I could just will myself into coming out of these trials unscathed,” Sam said finally. “Thinking that there won't be consequences, that it'll all just work out.”

So they were back to the trials again. Dean supposed it was unreasonable to expect Sam to have forgotten about them while they were dealing with the situation in Storybrooke. He knew they'd never been far from his own thoughts, and he wasn't the one who was going through them.

“No, no, no,” he said firmly. “Just stop with that crap. You're not going to die.”

“How do you know, Dean?” Sam asked, sounding as if he really would like to hear that Dean had suddenly developed the ability to see the future. “Bobby? Rufus? You think they chose death? No. The life chose for them. And if there's one thing this last hunt has brought home to me, it's that we're so far immersed in this life that I'm not sure any more that there is a way out. I think you were right – our lives are going to end short and bloody.”

Dean was starting to get scared now. “I'm the one who jumps in front of bullets, remember?” he said, falling back on humour again to dissolve the tension. It didn't work, so he used the only other thing he had in his arsenal to stop the slide of this conversation into the abyss.

“Yeah, well, you promised,” he said petulantly. “You promised to live a long, Clark Griswald life full of prostate exams and colonoscopies. Alright? You're not welching on that deal. Not on my watch. If you die, it's going to be because of something normal.” He knew he was starting to sound hysterical, but he didn't care.

“Heart attack?” Sam suggested, with the ghost of a smile.

Dean flashed back to David writhing in agony in the clock tower as Regina squeezed his heart in her hand. “Very funny,” he said drily, secretly glad that Sam had apparently decided to let it go – for now, at least. “Now shut up and let me drive for a bit.” He paused and then threw Sam a sly grin. “Dorothy.”

XXXXX

Back at the lair, Dean went into his room and threw his jacket on a chair. He crossed to sit on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.

“Cas?” he said hopefully. “You got your ears on?”

Nothing. It had been a long shot; the angel hadn't responded to any of Dean's calls for a long time now. Dean sighed, then continued speaking, figuring it couldn't do any harm, even if he did feel like an idiot talking to an empty room. 

“Listen, you know I'm not one for praying. Cos in my book, it's the same as begging. But this is about Sam, so I need you to hear me.” He paused, dropping his head. It was always about Sam in the end, his little brother, his responsibility. “We are going into this deal blind. And I don't know what's ahead. Or what it's going to bring for Sam.” He thought back to how Sam had been since the incident with the hellhound, how he'd been on edge and obviously hiding something that Dean was too scared to press him about. “Now, he's covering pretty good, but I know that he's hurting. And this one was supposed to be on me.” Wasn't that always the way it seemed to end up; with Sam taking the hit, no matter what Dean did to try and protect him? “So, for all that we've been through... I'm asking you... You keep a lookout for my little brother, okay?”

He stopped and looked around the room, as if Cas might be hiding in the corner or something. There was more to this little speech than just worrying about Sam, if he was honest. He was worried about Cas too. Things had become so damned complicated – hell, he couldn't remember a time when they were simple – and he just wanted his brother and his best friend close by and safe, where he could keep an eye on them. But Cas was in the wind, fighting his own battles and dealing with who knew what.

“Where the hell are you, man?” he said, anxiously.

Only silence answered him.

THE END


End file.
